The Sunday Bee MORNlN G—E V E N I N G—S UNDAY TUX BEX PrBLISHISG CO.. Publishers. MEMBER OF THE ASSOCIATED PRESS the Associated Praia, of which The Bee It a member. It excluilrelr f ah titled to the use for rt publican on of all newa dltpatehss credited to It or aoc otherwise credited In this paper, and alao tha local newa publlehed hereto. All rifhta of republlcatlons of our special dispatches ara alao reearred. BEE TELEPHONES Private Branch Exchange. Ask for tha Department A T I..*:, or Person Wanted. For Night Calls After 10 P. M.: A1 ™‘,c Editorial Department. AT lantis 1021 or 1042. 1000 OFFICES Main Office—17th and Famam Cv Bluffs ... IB Scott St. So. Side, N. W. Cor. 24th and N New York—286 Fifth Avenue • Wash ngton - 422 Star Bldg. Chicago - - 1720 Steger Bldg. HEART SONGS THAT LIVE. When the call is for “close harmony,” what ■trains do you expect to hear? “Old Black Joe,” or “My Old Kentucky Home,” to be sure. No “barber shop” tenor or "catarrhal” bass but feels at home with these. And if it is a ringing, rowdy song, just short of ribaldry, that is asked for, well, there comes up “Gwine to Run All Night,” or “Old Uncle Ned.” “Old Folks at Home,” ravishingly sw'eet in melody, has challenged the best efforts of the world’s great est singers. Whoever heard Nordica, pour out the liquid loveliness of her wonderful voice in those caressing strains and did not yield to their allure ment? Who has not solemnly intoned the somber measures of “Massa’s in the Cold, Cold Ground,” or chimed in tempo if not in tune with “Nellie Was a Lady?” Kentucky has just dedicated a memorial to the author of these and 163 other songs, among them “Come Where My Loves Lies Dreaming,” and many more of really high quality, Stephen C. Foster was but 28 when he died, a victim of dissipation, in a Bowery lodging house in New York. The story has it that when he wrote some of his best southern songs he had never been below Mason’s and Dixon’s line, and knew of the south only by hearsay, yft the tender ness of sentiment, the beauty of imagery, and the lilt of the soothing melody of Foster’s songs captured the heart of the south as well as of the world, and have lived because they have the quality that de serves to live. No song writer of the present day, or in the years that have intervened, has shown the fecundity of Foster. Irving Berlin, dean of “Tin Pan Alley;” Van Alstyne, Von Tilzer, nor any of their breed, take rank with Foster. Most of their songs were for the moment only, and one is forgotten as soon as another is brought forth. They pretend to no grace of permanence; perhaps Foster did not, but he did sound something that vibrates in the heart of men, and from “Zip Coon” to “Come Where My Love Lies Dreaming,” he weeded sentiment to lyric verse and happy or grave harmony, and won for his muse an immortality he may have missed. BURBANK FINDS A THANKLESS WORLD. "And ha pave it for his opinion, that whoever could make two ears of corn, or two blade* of pras», to grow upon a spot of ground whope only one grew before, would deserve better of mankind, and do more essential service to his country, than the whole race of politicians put together." Thus did Dean Swift discourse upon a very prac tical topic, and his words have been glibly quoted ever since, but to wha* end? Luther Burbank, at the age of 74, feeling that his end is not far away, surveys sixty years of effort to improve plants for man’s use, and deplores the fact that his work has not brought the benefit it should. \\ hy not? Sim ply because man has declined to take advantage of what Burbank has presented to him. The public has listened to stories of the spineless cactus, has eaten of the hybrid fruits, and has gone its way, unimpressed by what Burbank has accom plished. He writes of himself and his labors: S “I have thirteen acres of land at Sebastopol, Cal., that would be worth to the world a billion dollars an acre If all of the new creallons upon this land were introduced to the world and put to use. I had sixteen acres at Sebastopol until I sold three acres a few months ago. It was sold to a ceme tery association and every plant on It Is being ‘ pulled up and burned so that the tract may be plotted for graves. Among the thousands of new and Improved varieties on this little three acre tract were more than forty new selected thornless blackberries that would have been worth $30,000 if they had been Introduced to the world. In addi tion, there were some thirty varieties of new hy brid roses from a selection of several thousands, a choice collection of some forty varieties of loquats. a large number of new apples, chestnuts, plums, peaches, nectarines, dahlias, and so on. "I am 74 years old. My strength Is good for my age, but it IS not what It used to be. 1 sold part of the Sebastopol experimental farm because I could not operate It. The remainder will have to be sold for the same reason. On the thirteen acres that are left at Sebastopol are 2,000 varieties of cher ries, 1,000 varieties of plums, 60 or 70 kinds of se lected chestnuts, between 300 and BOO varieties of pears and 50 or 60 varieties of quinces. There is also a walnut tree that, for many years, has pro duced each year $1,000 worth of walnuts.” This seems to disprove the prophecy made for the man who could produce the better mouse trap. Burbank did not build his cottage in a wilderness, nor has the world beaten a path to his door. Why we know not; we have Burbank’s word for it that he is old and discouraged, but does not want to see all he has been able to bring about’go for naught. He says: "When I am tired T sometimes feel that if the .world does not care if the beet varieties’of plant life the earth has evft* produced go to waste I don't rare either. But it will be a great loss to the world if the thousands of Improved varieties on the Se bastopol farm be permitted to go to waste. And they will go to waste unless somebody gives them the attention that I can no longer give." And, with three acres gone for a cemetery, an other man is trying to get three acres for a chicken ranch, and presently the entire Sebastopol farm will have disappeared, because Burbank no longer lives and toils and cross-breeds plants and flowers, to make their fruits or their blossoms more useful to man. He will live in name, hidden away In the encyclo pedia, and all because praise for his work has not taken on the form of practical adaptation. For ex ample, he once received an order for 10,000,000 walnut trees, to he delivered at the rate of a million a year for ten years. He could not fill the order, but might have supplied 65,000, which number was de clined. Mendel’s studies in heredity lay forty years in ob scurity, yet his law stands a cornerstone for biologi cal research today. Will Burbank have a similar his tory? Poking fun at the president does not detract from the showing made that the treasury has a surplus of $510,000,000 Instead of the deficit the democrats made so familiar. The man who rolled off the deck of the boat where he was sleeping and drowned must have been a sound sAteper, DRAMA IN THE FIELDS. A drama as big as all out doors is that of seed time and harvest. Ever since the dim beginnings of agriculture in the world of primitive days festivals have celebrated the planting and the gathering of the crops. Such institutions as Omaha's Ak-Sar-Ben and the county fairs have their roots in antiquity, as has also Thanksgiving day. It has remained for the tobacco growers of Ken tucky to add a really modern touch. In a natural amphitheater near Cynthiana 5,000 persons recently assembled to witness a pageant whose climax depict ed the success of their co-operative movement. In the days of antiquity there was not much to worry about after the harvest was in. The grapes were crushed into wine, the wheat and cheese stored for family use and the olives salted down in their jars. Not until long after the days of the Greeks did the problem of marketing become acute. With the ad vance of civilization same new complexities. A last act was put on the drama of the fields, and not al ways one with a happy ending. A glance at the plot of the pageant of tobacco, however, shows the joyous note of the harvest still remains. The story began when Sir Walter Raleigh, introduced tobacco in England in Queen Elizabeth's time. Tobacco was symbolized as the Princess Tobago, accompanied by a charter representing “Smoke,” her handmaiden. As the thle unwound the princess was made captive by hard times, a big red devil, aided by little red devils of despair, who vividly recalled the 1 cent a pound market of 1921, the year before the association was formed. The Princess Kentucky, was downcast in this scene, but in the next, after the Princess Co-Operation appeared, she was joyfully crowned with “Prosperity,” the ropes that bound the Princess Tobago were unleashed, the red devils, big and little, were banished and assurances of better schools, roads, churches and homes took their places. It is good for people to view their common lives thus as a graphic whole, and to dramatics the story of their daily round. Here on the prairies of Ne braska could be presented a pageant of wheat and corn that would be as thrilling and full of Interest as any play that holds the boards. Tragedy, comedy, adventure, despair, hope romance, wisdom, folly and every emotion known to man treads nature’s stage. The community that made an annual feature of the pageant of the grain would soon draw sightseers from every quarter of the land. WHY? Our hero is just past 3, and is standing on a stool, leaning against the wash bowl, while his grand dad is preparing to shave. “Dambad (which is 3-year-old for granddad), what you goin’ to do?” “I’m going to shave.” “Why?” “To get the hair off my face.” “Why?” “So that it will feel better.” “Will I have to shave?” “Some day you will.” “When?” “When you grow up to be a big man.” “Why?” “Because then you will have bristles growing all over your face.” “Why?” “Because all men have whiskers.” “Why?” “I can't tell you why." Business of applying the lather. “Dambad, you look just like the funny clown.” Stropping the razor follows. “Dambad, why do you do that?” “To sharpen the razor.” “Does that make the razor sharp?” “Yes.” “How does it?” . So it goes, all through the shaving process, and finally, when granddad puts a little bay rum on his shining phiz, 3-year-old asks why, and wants some on his. It was that way in the beginning. When the Neanderthal man sat down alongside a still pool, to pull superfluous hairs from around his eyes, that he might see better, one of his offspring crouched beside him and demanded to know why. Haeckel asserts that in his lifetime man repeats the experi ences of every generation that has gone before him, and so the youthful inquisitor is but reminding his mother’s father of the questions he asked his father, and on back to the beginning. Knowledge is not all born of experience. The greater part of it is passed from one to another, from mouth to ear, and the little boy who is eternally asking why only follows a natural impulse to find cut about things he doesn't understand, and grand dad knows this and is patient, for he also recalls what the grandfather felt of whom Riley wrote, “Since Little Wesley Died”—“An’ to think I used to scold him for his everlasting noise!” THE THINGS THAT PART THEM. “Until death do us part,” they promised each other, but in one day the district court dissolved the contract between them, and the pledge made when the vows of marriage were taken became mere lip 1 service. One husband complained his wife made him wash dishes and clean house. Nothing so awful about that, for many a man has done the same. A wife asserted her husband fussed and argued. They ail do. Another wife says her husband married her “for spite.” He ran away, and so did not enjoy his triumph to the full. A third wife says her spouse “nagged her.” Usually it is the other way around. A soldier pleaded his wife would not follow him to Texfvs, where the War department sent him. She may not bo to blame for not wanting to go to Texas, but should remember what Ruth said to Naomi, as an example of wifely obligation. One man admits he was a good husband, but says his wife left him, just the same. Maybe was too good. One wife pleads that her husband got drunk and abused her. This seems the best ronson pre sented. Another says her husband never supported her. This also sounds good. One husband was named Love, but his now ex-wife says he did not live up to his name, but threatened to cut her throat. Arguing was the great indoor sport of another hus band, who could keep up a debate until 2 or 8 in the morning, but would not work. And finally the list winds up with the story told by a wife of her husband’s refusal to support her. In all this list but few really good reasons are presented, and no one of them but might be subject to treatment. Students of div.orce might do well to examine these facts, and deal with them rather than with the actual number. Marriage is not regarded with sufficient seriousness when such a record can be obtained in a single court. Governor Bryan is rearranging and consolidat ing departments at Lincoln, but that doesn't seem to worry the democrats near as much as similar movements at Washington. Amundsen gives up his flight across the top of the world, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t do it. A Montana judge has ruled there is no limit on prescriptions. Now, catch your doctor. Summer would hardly he summer without a war between Greece and Turkey. Our notion of nothing to brag about is a heat record. The "third party" is twins. The Missouri —By JOAQUIN MILLER Where ranged thy black maned, woolly bulla By millions, fat and unafraid; Where gold, unclaimed In cradlefuls. Slept ’mid the grass roots, gorge, and glade; Where peaks companioned with the stars, And propped the blue with shining white, With massive silver beams and bars. With copper bastions, height on height— There wast thou born, O lord of strength! O yellow lion, leap and length Of arm from out an Arctic chine To far, fair Mexic seas are thine! What colors? Copper, silver, gold With sudden sweep and fury blent, Enwound, unwound, lnrolled, un rolled, Mad molder of the continent! What whirlpools and what choking cries From out the concave swirl and sweep As when some god cries out and dies Ten fathoms down thy tawny deep! Yet on. right on. no time for death. No time to gasp a second breath! You plow a pathway through the main To Morro's castle, Cuba's plain. Hoar sire of hot, sweet Cuban seas, Gray father of the continent. Fierce fashioner of destinies, Of states thou hast upreared or rent, Thou know’st no limit; seas turn back, Bent, broken from the shaggy shore; But thou, in thy resistless track. Art lord and master evermore. Missouri, surge and sing and sweep! Missouri, master of the deep. From snow-reared Rockleq to the sea Sweep on, sweep on eternally! Nebraska Artists and Authors □KBRASKA’S newly awakened pride and Interest In Its na tive artists and authors has at tracted attention In the east. The New York World, taking editorial no tice of the proposal for a Nebraska authors’ week, mentions the fame of Wllla Cather and John O. Neihardt, and then proceeds to some pertinent comment, as follows: “There are other writers in Ne braska—there must be, because there are writers everywhere—but they are not of the sort that appear before the mind's eye and leap to the up of the tongue when the state is mentioned. There are many writ ers of fair success who were born in Nebraska and who have identi fied themselves with other localities. Miss Cather herself lives in Green wich Village. Her ties with the soil of her stale are largely literary and reminiscent, tso it is with nearly all the boys and girls who come to New York from the middlewest. They come here in search of oppor tunity, just as Shakespeare went up to London and ambitious French men go to Baris. “But it would be better for Ne braska, better for New York and better for the country as a whole if the cream of the population did not drain so dirctly to one metropo lis. Too much talent is smothered in this city, while the middlewest suffers for lack of it. Yet if talent is to be kept at home it must be honored at home. That is the first step, and an Authors’ week in Ne braska is a hopeful sign." • • • The suggestion recently made in Tlie Omana Bee by Jack Bee, author of "Niobrara Waifs," for a poets nub, is valuable. Scattered here and there on the prairie* of Nebraska are a number of men and women of con siderable literary ability who would be greatly heartened if they could be brought together and given the op portunity for the exchanging of ideas. The lirsl reply to Mr. Bee is from Robert Worthington lJavie, th* "Homespun poet," who says: "People of various vocations have their societies which are significant as a privilege of getting acquainted and becoming familiar with the latent dis tinction of each Individual. These societies are a beneflt, both socially and Intellectually. "1 can not see why the poets of this community Bhould not profit by or ganizing a poets’ club, according to the f-uggtstion of Jack Lee. "If others are interested, perhaps it would be well for them to write The Omaha Bee, or communicate with Mr. Lee, since he seems to have been the sponsor of this idea, and with him as a center some definite step may be taken." Now let's hear from Carolyn Ren frew of Hastings and some of the women poets. Miss Renfrew, by the way, has recently issued a volume of verse, "Songs of Hope." as she has several other compositions, ranging from verse and drama to Juvenile stor ies, ready for publication. The open ing poem of her new book is the one which was swarded the prize in th* Omaha Women s Sres* club competi tion. Although one Nebraska newspaper expressed the fear that thera would he standing room only In Tha Omaha bee's ''Hall of Fame,'' yet there are conslantly coming up names of more Nehraskana whose work Is worthy of comment. On# of these Is Lily Kuegg Hutton of Fremont. Mrs. Button is not .only an accomplished pianist, but h.is also made an extensive study of bird songs. She has set many of these down In musical notation. There 1s no end of musical ability In Nebraska There is, for another. Frances Nash, an Omaha girl, who has won for herself a high place as one of the women pianists of the country. Miss Nash spent her early life In Omaha, where her mother and brothers and sisters reside and are prominent In various line* of en deavor. Miss Nash gained much of her mull cal education In Omaha before supple menting It with additional study both In America dnd in burope. Miss Nash , h: